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Serena: Unheard, Ignored
SERENA YRENDAEL Once, Serena told people, there was a town outside Alabaster. Wood elves and high elves both lived there, and half-elves and humans and tieflings too. No orcs, of course. That would just be silly. A bridge too far. Laughable. It was a poor and struggling town, but everyone there believed they were on the right side of history -- refusing Alabasti gold in favor of accepting all sorts within their boundaries. (Except orcs. No, still not orcs.) Unfortunately, Serena would say, they weren’t able to eat and drink their beliefs, and their beliefs didn’t patch the holes in their roofs, or feed their fires, or keep them safe from the harsh winter winds. Serena would tell people that the little town blew away one winter. Abandoned. The high elves groveled back to Alabaster, and the rest scattered off to more hospitable abodes, and their little dream of acceptance was forgotten and buried under the snow. What she didn’t tell people was that her parents froze to death one winter, and she spent the rest of it hiding in doorways. That she summered with a human and tiefling family who had some food to spare because the winter had taken a grandmother and a baby from them, and the next winter she was alone again because they moved away. She didn’t tell people that the town blew away bit by bit, year by year, winter by winter. She didn’t tell them how hungry she had gotten. She didn’t tell them how cold the north was. She would tell people that Selune came to guide her in a troubling time, but she wouldn’t say it was when she was shivering to death in a cold and empty shack, and realized suddenly that with a snap of her fingers she could light a fire. She never told anyone the soothing words that her goddess whispered in her ear. She would tell people that Selune sent her visions, but she wouldn’t share the more troubling ones. Red skies. Blood-stained wood. Slavering teeth. The roar of thunder. Selune guided her south, where it was warm. She lived in Sienna Springs for a spell. She stayed in Moorland. By the time she made it to Skyport, she was grown but still skinny, still hungry all the time, still cold down in her soul. She made money selling fortunes from the back of a wagon, most of which were fake, but she didn’t tell anyone that part when she told the story. Few enough believed her visions anyway. She didn’t say that she feared the storms out at sea, felt the hairs on the back of her neck lift with dreadful knowledge. She didn’t say what she knew -- that if she ever went to sea, it would kill her. Her goddess warned her away, and whispered. Serena never told anyone the extent of power she’d glimpsed, and been promised, the visions of moonlight beaming through her. Many futures, she would tell people, flipping cards and reading into them. Many futures. The moon, the empress. Death, the emperor. The sea would bring her to bloody tusks and blank eyes, and all she had to do was stay away, and in time she would be able to see much, much more. But oh, it called to her, the ocean and the family she would die with, and Serena went to it regardless. Category:Vignettes